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I nod. “Love them to death, apparently,” I start, pivoting slightly to take in Adrienne. She has a smirk locked and loaded, waiting for what she’s hoping is a smart retort from me. I hate to disappoint her, but the look on her face will be so worth it. “Most people think roses are the most romantic flower in the world. Me, I’m partial to daisies.” My gaze captures the momentary look of surprise in her wide eyes, scanning up to make note of the single daisy pushed at the side of her bun. I take my time, my eyes taking a slow sweep of her—the stylish top, the tight yet comfortable pants, the open-toed flats. On my return trip, I pause and take in her attempt to hide. She tilts her chin down slightly, the corner of her lips ticking up for a heartbeat, a tint of color rushing to her cheek as her hand adjusts the daisy in her hair. A unique flower for a unique woman. The definition of true beauty.
Bullseye.
“Flowers have never been my thing.” Trent speaks, breaking the mood. “I guess I’m going to have to study up.”
Adrienne hooks her arm into Trent’s. “Stick close to me. I’ll teach you everything you’ll ever want to know. Shall we?”
The pair—because I refuse to call them a couple—steps around me, and I turn to watch. Trent has his hand placed on her lower back again. He leans over and whispers something to her I can’t make out. She shrieks a laugh before giving his arm a playful smack.
I’ve seen Adrienne on dates before. I’ve even set her up a few times. And Trent is only being polite and helping me out, yet I find myself battling with a green monster I’ve never had to face before.
“I can’t believe I’m going on a date with Lucas Hobbs.” Jasmine’s words catch me by surprise. I’ve already forgotten about her.
I bend my arm at the elbow and she slips her hand through it, and I mutter, “Me neither.”
She imitates Adrienne’s cackle. While Adrienne’s was impromptu and genuine, Jasmine’s sounds forced and insincere. The other difference between us is that what I whispered to Jasmine was not a joke.
I’ve been on bad dates before. Sometimes, things don’t work out for a variety of valid reasons. Two people with good intentions and bad outcomes. That is the definition of dating. It’s easy enough to pivot, adjust expectations, and still have a decent night out. I’ve had dates turn into wonderful friendships. Growing up with Adrienne has taught me a lot about women, lessons I didn’t realize at the time were taking root. I never went through the awkward teen phase most guys traverse while dating because any challenges I ever faced I could bring to Adrienne, and we talked through them.
She’d take her time and explain in simple terms how a woman’s perspective differed from a man’s in so many subtle ways. It was like taking your car to the dealer for a tune-up and being taught a masterclass by an expert. I’ve learned about patience, listening, respect, and ceding control, dozens of little things I had no clue about and the impact of my behavior on the people around me.
But Jasmine is going to test my limits. She’s done nothing a dozen other women haven’t attempted to do to grab a guy’s attention. Be something they’re not. It’s shortsighted and misguided, but unfortunately this tactic works for a handful of guys—but I’m not one of them. In the past, I’d easily be able to adjust, to talk to them quietly, respectfully, and let them know I understand their apprehension, their need to be seen. That guys feel it too. I’d be able to find a silly joke to get her to relax and for us to talk like two people looking to get to know each other better.
But there is nothing normal about tonight. I’m off my game, and the one person who can walk me back has another guy’s arm wrapped around her waist three feet away.
I can feel in my bones, the agitation and anxiety beating in my chest will not let me relax. The original plans were a simple evening of bowling or billiards. I quickly had to scrap those plans the moment I saw Jasmine’s dress. Although I’m sure Trent wouldn’t mind being flashed by her thong all night whenever she bent over the pool table, I was in no mood to fight off drunk men all night.
So, instead, we are here at Brooke’s Buffet, an inexpensive, all-you-can-eat, everyone can find something they like spot that won’t disappoint. At least, that is the plan.
Adrienne and Trent slide into the booth across from Jasmine and me. He slides right next to her, and I don’t have to look under the table to know their thighs are touching. On the ride over, the two of them sat in the back seat and giggled and whispered the entire time. Jasmine’s endless questions kept me from eavesdropping, her inquisition relentless.
“So, how does it feel to be home? Your parents must be ecstatic?” Jasmine asks, and I freeze. It’s the first serious question she’s asked all night. We’ve already covered my favorite color, movie, singer, and list of every country I’ve ever visited.
“Still figuring it out,” I say. I haven’t been home long enough to feel any way other than off-balance. The phrase “the rest of your life” echoes in my head. It’s the term my professors used during finals week, our guest speakers used during commencement, and Dad used when I headed out the door for the interview. The rest of my life is supposed to be far into the future. How do you make such critical decisions that will affect the rest of your life when you’re not that far removed from taking driving lessons and drinking your first beer?
A warm hand lands on my knee, a supportive squeeze which I appreciate. Maybe I’ve been wrong about Jasmine—maybe there is more to her than I took note on first glance. I place my palm on the top of her hand and immediately realize I’m wrong. My gaze flits up, across the table from me. Adrienne is leaning forward, her hand under the table on my knee.
It’s her. It’s always her. She always has me.
Always.
I direct my words in her direction. “It’s good to be with those you love. You can’t find that anywhere else in the world.”
Adrienne directs a loose strand of her silky hair around her ear. Her lips part, and I lean closer to capture her response.
“You’re so lucky.” Jasmine’s words interrupt us. “I’m still new to Mesa, trying to find my tribe. Thank goodness Adrienne has taken me under her wing.” I feel my eyes squint as Jasmine pulls a plastic menu from the wire rack on the end of the table. “Maybe before this night is over, you’ll join my tribe?”
It’s a rhetorical question, which I ignore. I’m more intrigued as to why someone at a buffet is looking through a menu. No one orders from the menu at a buffet.
“Can we go? Those lines are growing by the minute.” Trent juts his chin toward the growing chaos. It’s early evening, the family hour for the buffet. Dozens of screaming kids are running around yelling and digging into buffet trays like it’s the sandbox in a playground. Exhausted parents chase after them, always two steps behind.
I’m smart enough to avoid the buffet at this hour, which is why we should be bowling right about now. Then the dress happened.
“It’s okay, they refill them every twenty minutes,” Adrienne says, leaning back into the booth. We both know the rotation and the schedule, having spent many a late night here after a day of mountain biking, hiking, or a hundred other evenings together.
“I’m going to order the surf and turf off the menu. You can go ahead without me.” Jasmine points down at the photoshopped picture of a stack of nachos, and I’m confused.
“Do you mean nachos?” I ask, leaning over at the menu. Her finger swipes across the menu as if she’s reading braille. “They have the same items on the buffet—no waiting.” I leave out the part about it being half the cost as well.
